


I Don't Like Horses

by uaevuon



Series: In All Of Us [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Everyone is Trans, Gen, M/M, Misgendering, Punk Jean, Sad Ending, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We will always be a tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> just in case you missed the other warnings: this part of In All Of Us does not have a happy ending.

“Uh. Hi.” Jean stood in the doorway, straight-backed and with his hand still on the knob. “Am I in the right place?”

The four people in the room all turned to look at him. 

“Are you here for the youth group?” one person asked. 

Another snickered, and under her breath said, “ _youth_ ,” as if it was a joke. 

“Yeah. The, um, trans thing.” He took a deep breath. “I’m Jean.”

“Hanji,” the first person said, extending a hand in greeting. “You’re in the right place. Have a seat.” 

Jean sat on the empty couch. “So, um, who are you? I mean, what are your names?” 

“Ymir.”

“Krista.”

“Levi.”

“Cool.” Jean tapped his feet, unsure of what to do now. He kind of hoped someone would say something, otherwise he might start doing that word vomit thing he tended to do when he felt threatened. 

Hanji had just finished hanging up a flag, pink-and-blue-and-white striped, over a bookcase, and then sat down as well. “Our other co-ordinator should be here soon. He always gets to meetings precisely on time. I get here early.”

Levi kicked the leg of his chair. “And apparently I get here half an hour before you and freeze my balls off in the cold, because _somebody_ \--” he directed a glare at Hanji “--told me the wrong time.”

“I didn’t want you to be late,” Hanji said. 

“Do you all know each other?” Jean asked. It was only the first meeting, after all. He didn’t want to be the odd one out. 

“Some of us know some of us,” Krista answered.

“There should be at least one more person coming,” Hanji said.

Sure enough, the heavy front door squealed as it opened, and a deep voice came through. “Sorry about that. I keep telling them, the ramps don’t do much if they can’t get through the door.” There was a bit of clattering, and then two more people came through the second door and into the meeting room. 

“Right on time,” the owner of the previous voice said. Jean squinted at him; he looked familiar somehow. Less familiar was the teenager wheeling himself over to the empty space between the semi-circle of chairs and Jean’s couch. He smiled at Jean, and then turned attentively to the co-ordinators. 

“Great. Now we can start.” Hanji passed a clipboard left to Levi. “I’m passing around a sign-up sheet; please write your preferred name and pronouns, and your e-mail address. If you don’t have an e-mail, you can put a phone number or some other way we can contact you. Our phone numbers are at the top of the page, if you want to hold on to them; if you ever need someone to talk to outside of our meetings, you can call Erwin or me.” They clapped their hands together. “While we’re doing that! Introductions! 

“Please tell us all your name and pronouns, something you like, and something you dislike. I’ll start; I’m Hanji, I prefer _they_ or _it_ pronouns but I probably won’t correct you if you use the wrong ones. I like well-referenced academic papers; I dislike bruised bananas.” 

“Levi. _He_ or _they_ pronouns. I like tea, and I dislike filth, so clean up after yourselves.”

“I’m Krista. I prefer _she/her_ pronouns. I like tall girls --” the tall girl next to her blushed “-- and I don’t like oligarchical governments.”

“Ymir.” She brushed her hair out of her face. It actually wasn’t in her face at all, so it seemed like a nervous habit. “ _She/her_. I don’t like mornings, but I love coffee, especially when my girl brings it to me.” Ymir reached for Krista’s hand, and they intertwined their fingers. 

Jean thought it was pretty awkward to be around lovey-dovey couples, but he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, because the guy next to him was speaking and handing him the clipboard. He tried to write and pay attention at the same time. 

“My name’s Marco.” He was rather soft-spoken, with a high voice that sounded like the back of the closet. “I prefer _he/him_ pronouns. I like motorcycles, and I don’t like allergies.”

“I have a motorcycle, actually,” Jean said. “It’s the one in the parking lot.”

“That’s _yours_? How do you like it?”

“Oh, it’s great -- um. Maybe we should talk later?” Jean noticed all the eyes were on him, waiting for him to introduce himself. “I’m Jean. I use _he/him_ pronouns. I like Dr. Pepper. Uh…” He scribbled down his e-mail address while he thought of something he didn’t like. “I don’t like horses.”

“Why not?” Ymir asked. 

“I don’t know, they just kind of freak me out.” He passed on the clipboard. 

“I’m Erwin.” He took the board and placed it on the low table in the middle of the circle. “I use _he/him_ pronouns, I like having the chance to grow out my facial hair, and I dislike being photographed without my permission.”

“When has that happened?” Jean asked. 

Erwin smiled. “Today, actually. Well, now that’s settled… Since this is our first meeting, we’re going to start with some input from all of you. What kinds of things would you like to discuss in this and later meetings? What should we focus on?”

Hanji picked up another clipboard from under their chair, prepared for note-taking. They smiled at the group, not faltering for a moment as silence pervaded. 

“Take your time.” 

Levi sighed; he was less patient. “I’d like to talk about how the queer community at large perpetuates transphobia, especially transmisogyny and non-binary erasure, in an effort to appear more acceptable to the binary cisgender heteropatriarchy.”

Krista snapped her fingers in agreement; Ymir, Marco, and Jean looked kind of lost. 

“Gays make fun of trans people so the heteros will like them better.”

“Maybe keep the academic language to a minimum for now?” Hanji suggested, though they’d written down the suggestion the first way Levi had described it. 

“Can we talk about intersex stuff?” Jean asked. “It doesn’t have to be a lot.”

“We can absolutely talk about that! I’m glad you mentioned it.” Hanji scribbled down the suggestion. “There’s a lot of overlap between issues affecting trans and intersex people; I think it fits right in.”

“Also, doctors. Just doctors in general. Going for physicals is among the more uncomfortable experiences I have.”

“I _hate_ doctors,” Marco said. “Do you know how many times I’ve been called ‘interesting’ or referred to by my disability or as ‘the one that thinks she’s a man’? It’s horrific. Nurses are lovely, and usually at least try to be respectful, but every doctor I’ve ever seen was rude and condescending.”

“Have you seen anyone at the clinic?” Hanji asked. 

Marco shook his head. “They’re not qualified to do my exams.”

“Oh.” Hanji tapped their pen against the clipboard. “I’ll see if I can find any resources for you.” 

“I’d appreciate that. Dad’s been looking but he keeps finding these LGBT positive doctors --” he made air-quotes around ‘LGBT positive’ “-- who don’t even know what the T means, much less how to treat us with respect.”

“I’d actually like a few recommendations myself,” Ymir said. “I’ve been avoiding doctors for a while. All I ever go to is my endocrinologist and even that’s pretty awful.”

“I’ll pass my list along to all of you. Any more suggestions?”

By the end of the meeting, Hanji had three pages, front-and-back, of discussion notes, and a very cramped left hand. 

“That was a great session,” Erwin said. “We’ll go over everything you said and make a schedule for when we’ll discuss them. A few of them, we might also bring over to the general group, too.” He stood up. “I have to run, but I hope to see you here next week.”

Hanji and Levi stuck around a little longer to lock up the building. 

Jean got up to leave as well, but Marco cut him off. He smiled at Jean over his shoulder. “Show me your bike?”

Erwin helped Marco through the door again, and once he was on level ground Erwin gave the pair a mock-salute and jogged off to his car. 

“I swear I recognise him from somewhere,” Jean said.

“Well, of course,” Marco said. “He’s Erwin Smith.”

“Where have I heard that name?”

“He’s an actor.” 

That didn’t quite jog Jean’s memory, but it was a start. 

Marco was already most of the way down the accessible ramp, while Jean stood awkwardly rooted to his spot by the door. He shook himself and jumped down the three steps from the porch to the sidewalk, landing right in front of Marco. He led him to his bike. 

“Wow.” Marco lifted one hand from the wheel on his chair and reached towards the bike. “Can I touch?”

“Um, yeah.”

Marco ran a hand over the seat and then the handle nearest him, lovingly, almost reverently. “God, I’d like to drive one of these.”

“You could ride with me.” Jean knew he was coming on a little strong. He did that a lot. 

Marco shook his head. “No thanks. It’s not exactly my size. I’m sure you look good on it though.”

“Yeah.” He was pretty sure he looked like a dork, really, and the bike was too big for him, but he’d never say that out loud. 

“Jean.”

“Huh?”

“I’m flirting with you.”

Well. That certainly made things easier. “Oh.”

“You can stop pretending to be cooler than you are. I already like you.”

“That’s… that’s good.” Jean chewed on the inside of his lip for a beat while he tried to come up with the best way to phrase his question. “So… do you want to hang out sometime?” 

“I’d love to.” A car horn blared, and Marco turned to wave at a man who waved back from an open car window. “That’s my ride. I’ll call you, okay?”

“You have my number?”

Marco’s cheeks darkened. “I, um, might have taken it off the sign-in sheet.”


	2. Pegasus

They met at a coffee shop, which was cliche as hell but Jean really liked coffee and it was kind of the only place he could afford and it was right across the street from the supermarket where he worked. He changed out of his uniform but he still smelled a bit like disinfectant from mopping up spilled tomato sauce, and cigarettes from his lunch break. 

“Where’s your nose ring?” was Marco’s first question. 

“Oh.” Jean covered his nose with one hand and with the other he stuck a finger in one nostril and flipped the horseshoe septum down so it hung out of his nose like it usually did. He wiped at it with the tips of his fingers to make sure there was no snot stuck to it before he uncovered his nose. “I’m not supposed to have it at work, so I flip it up.”

“That’s pretty resourceful.”

He shrugged. “Girl at the piercing place showed me.” Jean reached for the hand sanitizer dispenser hanging on the wall by the door; he didn’t usually care, but he probably should keep himself hygienic if only to impress his date. 

Jean got coffee; Marco got tea and a cookie. They took a table near the door and Jean moved the extra chair out of the way for Marco. He hadn’t gone on many dates so it wasn’t exactly force of habit, but he remembered his mom telling his older brother to always pull out chairs for his girlfriends to sit down, and it stuck with him. It wasn’t exactly the same concept, but Marco smiled gratefully at him anyway. 

Marco took off his gloves and dropped them onto his lap. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, and Jean grimaced. 

“I’m the unholy child of fire and storms--” he started, but then snorted into his hand before he could finish. “Sorry, sorry; inside joke.”

Marco was still smiling. It was kind of unnerving, to say the least, that someone could be so happy all the time. 

“Uh.” Jean cracked his knuckles under the table. 

“Where are you from?” Marco offered. “Around here, or…?”

“I’m from Trost. I, um... moved here a little over a year ago.” 

“Family move?” Marco asked, with a little pitch-down that Jean could tell meant he knew the answer was no, and it wasn’t a happy story. 

“No. Just me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to tell?” Jean ran a hand through his hair, and it came away tacky with styling gel. “I came out. My mom just wanted what was best for me, she said, but my brother was a shithead and she never did anything to stop him. I told her if she didn’t do anything about it I would leave. And here I am.”

“Why Princeton?”

Jean shrugged. “It was the next train stop. Might have moved on if I hadn’t found an apartment that would take an eighteen-year-old.”

“So you live on your own?”

“Not exactly. I’ve got two roommates. They’re… weird. What about you? I take it you live with your family.”

“Yeah. My parents and my twin sister.”

“Twin?”

Marco nodded. “Fraternal. I’m the older one. We’ve lived here all our lives.”

“And you’re… you know, out?”

“Yeah. My parents have been great. My sister makes fun of me sometimes, but in a teasing way, not in an ‘I want you to cry’ way. She calls me the brother she always wanted.”

“That’s… sweet. Wish I had that.”

Marco reached across the table and left his hand out, palm-up. “You still can. Maybe not with the family you were born into, but you can make a family that loves you for who you are.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“I am, and it takes a lot of energy. Don’t make me waste it.”

He had a point, though. Jean had cut himself off from pretty much everyone since coming here, throwing himself headfirst into working where he could. He met Marco’s hand with his own, and Marco gripped him tight. “I’ll do my best.” He sipped his coffee just for something to do with his free hand. “So are you in college?”

“High school.”

Jean choked.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I’m seventeen.”

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were my age.”

“I am your age. Two years isn’t that big a difference.” Marco retracted his hand, and for the first time since their date started he looked worried. “If you’d rather we not do this, I understand.”

Jean caught Marco’s hand before he moved too far “I said it’s fine. What year are you?”

“I’m a senior.”

“Applied anywhere yet?”

“Rutgers. I got in, too. I’m planning to live at home. Both my parents work there, and my sister wants to go too; it’s just simpler. I never really had my heart set on anywhere else.” Marco fiddled with his tea and took a sip. “Sorry. I always get people asking why I’m going to Rutgers. I don’t know what you’re used to, but in my district, it’s seen as a safety school.”

“I think it’s great you’re going to college; I’m not going to judge based on where. I mean, look at me. I graduated high school, barely, and that was it.”

“No plans for college?”

“Nope. I don’t have the money. I got in when I applied but then I left home. Maybe someday. What do you want to major in?”

“Criminal Justice. The best place to change a corrupt system is from within, in my opinion.”

Jean chuckled. “Sure you should be seen with a delinquent punk like me?”

“Of course. I like you.”

\---

“Hey, Lex, can I borrow your car?” Jean shouted across the apartment. “I’m picking up Marco.”

Aleksis leaned his head out of his bedroom; his long hair was wet and dripping on the floor. “Only if you bring it back with a full tank.”

“Is it empty again?”

His roommate grinned and disappeared back into his bedroom. 

Cornelia, the other roommate, was on the floor in the front room playing video games. “Get some!” she shouted at Jean; his face burned as he shut the door behind him, Lex’s key in hand. 

Sure enough, when Jean got down to the parking lot and into the car, he noticed the fuel gauge was almost at empty. Figures. Lex never really filled up the tank unless he had to, and usually pushed off that responsibility on Jean and Cornelia. He did buy most of the food, though, so Jean considered it an even trade. 

Jean picked up Marco at his house, enduring yet another of many bear hugs from Marco’s parents and sister. He helped Marco into the cramped car and stored his chair in the trunk. They weren’t going far, but it would be easier to go together than for Marco to get a ride from his parents and Jean to take his bike. 

“I haven’t been to a movie theatre since I was a kid,” Jean said. “Is that weird?”

“Maybe around here it is, but I have a few cousins overseas who’ve never been to the movies in their lives.”

“Really?”

Marco nodded. “Their parents think it’s a sin or something. Wonder what they’d say about me.”

Jean looked at Marco out of the corner of his eye, just for a moment, and he turned his hand palm-up on the armrest between them as an invitation. Marco took it. 

There were closer theatres, but they were hardly accessible and Jean kind of wanted to sit right next to his boyfriend on their date. After two months and a number of screw-ups, Jean learned to check out places before taking Marco there; he didn’t want a repeat of the noodle restaurant with no ramp or the mostly-unpaved park or the baseball game where Jean’s seat was several rows away from the “handicapped section”. So he and Marco agreed that it was worth the extra twenty minutes of driving for a theatre that would suit their needs. 

Jean paid for their tickets, and when Marco voiced his displeasure Jean said he could buy the snacks, and they called a truce for the time being. Jean then took a detour to the bathroom. 

When using public, gendered bathrooms, Jean always had a vague sense of trepidation, but he’d learned over the years that in most cases, as long as he didn’t look anyone directly in the eye and didn’t appear nervous, no-one would really bother him when he used the men’s room. Even if he didn’t necessarily pass perfectly. 

The bathroom was blessedly empty this time around, and Jean picked the second-to-last stall, did his business, and got out as fast as he could. Sure, he passed pretty well and probably wouldn’t get clocked, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed worrying about it for longer than necessary. 

Marco wasn’t where Jean had left him, so he paused at the bathroom door in a brief panic before he spotted him waiting on the snack line, which was rapidly getting long leading up to the big evening movie rush. 

“Thought I lost you,” Jean said when he reached Marco. He’d had to push through the crowd a little to get to him, but he put his hand on Marco’s shoulder and Marco leaned his head against Jean’s hip and all was well again. 

They sat near the front of the theatre, which wasn’t the ideal location for viewing, but that was there the accessible seating was. Jean particularly appreciated that he could open up a seat right next to Marco’s little wheelchair nook, and honestly, he paid more attention to the way their hands felt clasped together between them than he did the movie. 

Jean stole glances at Marco; Marco stole glances at Jean. Their eyes didn’t meet until halfway through the film, and they smiled and laughed and turned away from each other before looking back. 

“Are you watching the movie?” Marco whispered. 

“Not really. You?”

Marco shook his head, then motioned for Jean to come closer. As soon as he was within range, Marco leaned over and kissed him, just a quick peck on his lips. 

“Is that what we’re gonna do now?” Jean asked. He was trying really hard not to freak out that this was the first time he’d kissed Marco. 

Marco smiled and shrugged. “If you want.”

They locked lips again. It wasn’t exactly comfortable kissing with the arm of Marco’s wheelchair between them, but they made do, with Jean using it for leverage while Marco rubbed at the slowly lengthening undercut on the back of Jean’s head, urging him to come closer. 

That was how Jean and Marco missed most of the only movie they’d ever seen together.

They got ice cream after, the last customers before the stand closed, and they ate slowly to soothe their kiss-swollen lips. Every so often they looked at each other, smiled, and then went back to eating. 

The mall was mostly empty, as usual for so late at night, but there were a few people left who stuck around for a little while after their movies let out. Jean took a quick look around at them in between his not so sneaky glances at Marco, and someone locked eyes with him, squinted slightly, and then said something to the person next to him. 

Jean got a sinking feeling that something was about to happen, something he wouldn’t like, so he glanced at his and Marco’s empty ice cream cups and said, “We should get going.”

“So soon?” Marco said. “My curfew isn’t until one.”

“I--” Jean stopped, because he heard something. 

“That’s definitely the girl who came out of the men’s room earlier.”

Marco must have heard it too, because he tossed his cup in the trash and backed up a little. “Yeah, let’s go.” As soon as Jean was up, he started moving towards the exit, Jean in tow. They’d have to get a little closer to the guy who was talking about them before they reached the door to the parking lot; they could only hope this guy didn’t want to cause a scene. 

“They’re both girls. What the hell?”

Jean wanted to tear the guy apart, rip into him with his bare hands, but one look at him had been enough to know he didn’t have a chance. Even had Jean not been somewhat winded by his binder, the guy had a foot and maybe fifty pounds of muscle over him. 

For all that he seemed to take issue with their gender presentation, he didn’t bother Jean and Marco directly while they left. 

“He’s not following us or anything, is he?” Marco asked. 

Jean looked behind himself; there was no-one there. “No. We’re okay.” 

The car was parked in the nearest space, Marco’s handicapped tag hanging from the rearview mirror. Once again Jean helped him into his seat and stowed his chair in the trunk, and then he took off. 

He wished he could breathe a sigh of relief, but the encounter was too fresh, and so the air in the car was tense, filled with lingering fear. They were both quiet. Marco stared ahead, not really seeing anything; Jean paid attention to the road but he was jittery. After a little while he pulled off to the side of the road and put the car in park. The he covered his face with his hands and leaned against the wheel. 

“I’m sorry,” Jean said. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Jean.” Marco put a comforting hand on Jean’s shoulder while he shook lightly. “I had a great time.”

“But… that…”

“I know. There will always be assholes, Jean.” Marco moved his hand a little, rubbing gently. “I was scared too. I still am. But we can’t let the memory of them hurt us.”

“Yeah.” Jean took a deep breath. “Just… give me a few minutes to calm down. I’m not sure I should be driving like this.”

“Take your time. Should I call my parents or something?”

That was the last thing he ever said.


	3. Alacorn

Jean was released from the hospital a month later. He had suffered severe injury to his lower spine, and would be wheelchair-bound for the forseeable future. He couldn’t possibly make it up the stairs in his apartment building, and there was no elevator; the Bodts graciously allowed him to stay with them, in Marco’s first-floor bedroom, until he found a new place. 

Marco remained in a coma for three months before he passed away. The driver who had caused the accident that killed him was never found. 

His funeral was small, attended only by Marco’s nuclear family and a few friends from school and the close-knit trans support group; his extended family lived far away, and they’d become disconnected when Marco came out. 

Jean and Levi were the only ones who didn’t cry. Even Ymir let her mask fall for once. Levi’s face was pinched and stony, and anyone could tell there was a rush of emotions below the surface, but Jean was just numb. 

In a way, he knew this was coming. He’d prepared himself for it. He’d visited Marco as often as he could, just like the Bodts did, talking to his unconscious form but knowing Marco wouldn’t hear a word of it. 

Marco had been comatose for longer than Jean had known him. 

The funeral involved a service over an open casket, but no grave, as Marco was to be cremated later that night. 

Dinner at the Bodts’ was silent, the entire funeral party having brought dishes for a sort of potluck but no-one spoke over the casseroles and salads. It was too raw, too soon -- he was _too young_. 

Jean went to bed early, before all the guests had left. Surrounded by Marco’s possessions, and in Marco’s bed, he lay asleep for most of the night until Marco’s sister, Margaret, came in. 

“Jean,” she whispered. “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

Margaret shut the door quietly behind her and sank down onto the bed next to Jean. Her eyes were puffy, and she turned her head into the pillow. “Sometimes I think I can still smell him in here.”

“Me too.”

Margaret pulled Jean into a hug and finally, _finally_ , he cried. She didn’t try to stay strong for him; they cried together, just as Mr. and Mrs. Bodt cried upstairs over photos of their son growing up, just like Hanji cried at home over having lost a member of their group so soon, and so young, because they’d started the group to prevent those deaths in the first place.


End file.
